


Satellites

by Elenothar



Category: Star Wars - All Media Types, Star Wars Prequel Trilogy
Genre: Alternate Universe, Gen, Obi-Wan still can't stop making politician friends, spread out Jedi order
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-12-03
Updated: 2016-12-03
Packaged: 2018-09-06 06:48:30
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,620
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8738893
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Elenothar/pseuds/Elenothar
Summary: Obi-Wan Kenobi doesn't know what to expect when he is reassigned from the Alderaan Temple to Naboo. What he finds is a Master who seems to prefer plants to people and visions of a child under twin suns.





	

**Author's Note:**

  * For [norcumi](https://archiveofourown.org/users/norcumi/gifts).



> In honor of the lovely norcumi's birthday I'm posting the first part of this AU today. Not entirely sure where it's going yet, but... have some worldbuilding?
> 
> Basic idea: instead of clustering on Coruscant, the Jedi are spread out over ten temples throughout the galaxy. This, predictably, changes absolutely everything.

 

 

 

 

(1)

 

Obi-Wan Kenobi has just turned twelve when he is called to a meeting with Master Mundi. Ki-Adi Mundi had taken over as head of the Alderaan Jedi Temple when his predecessor, Master Yaddle, had announced that she was going to seek a more solitary life of meditation a year ago. Obi-Wan had been sad to see the diminutive Master go – she has a soft spot for children that often led her to the crèche.

The Padawan sent to fetch him hadn’t said anything about the reason for the head of the temple wanting to speak with him, but Obi-Wan has the sinking feeling that he already has an inkling of what Master Mundi wants to speak about.

“Welcome, Initiate Kenobi,” the Cerean Master greets him, soft-spoken as always. He has a nice voice, soothing and gentle, and Obi-Wan suspects he’d be a lot more unsettled if not for that.

He settles on the indicated cushion on the floor and accepts a mug of tea with a grateful nod.

Master Mundi takes a sip of his own mug. “I have called you here to discuss your future in this Temple.”

The sinking feeling in Obi-Wan’s stomach doubles in speed. He’s going to be relocated, even though the second choosing is already years in the past. He knows enough to realise that his chances of ever finding a Master willing to take him as a Padawan have just plummeted – it’s not like he’s close to being apprenticed here on Alderaan, but at least the Masters here know him and his strengths (as well as weaknesses). He will be a stranger on at whichever Temple he gets reassigned to.

“It is unusual for an initiate to switch temple so late,” Master Mundi says gently – probably Obi-Wan isn’t nearly as good at keeping his feelings off his face and contained in the Force than he might wish –  “but not unheard of. Alderaan has taught you much of diplomacy already, but we cannot foster your gift for the lightsaber as it should be.”

Obi-Wan nods silently. The Alderaan Temple is known for producing first class diplomats, and that is what much of the study here accommodates. Whilst all the Jedi Temples scattered throughout the galaxy give their initiates and Padawans the grounding in all the skills a Jedi might need, his teaching Masters have been saying that he needs more in-depth lightsaber training than they will be able to offer for over a year now.

Master Mundi patiently waits for him to speak.

“Am I to go to Rhen Var then?”

The Temple on Rhen Var is the one that is the most known for its warriors, for fostering skill with the lightsaber and other weapons besides. They also regularly turn out brilliant pilots, though they have not claimed an official role there yet. That is not to say that they are not also Jedi, beings of peace who follow the code (or an interpretation of it), but they are the ones first called upon when peace needs to be defended by more than words. One of his closest friends, Garen, had been pulled to the Rhen Var Temple at the second choosing.

Master Mundi shakes his tall head. “No, Initiate Kenobi. Whilst you have a talent for the blade, you also have a skill with words. To neglect that part of your character would not be the Jedi way. All skills are equally precious, and you appear to be blessed with more than one focus.” He steeples his fingers together. “You are going to Naboo.”

At first he’s only surprised. Naboo is… well, it’s the most unorthodox of the Jedi Temples, no matter what Corellia’s reputation might imply. Obi-Wan has never thought of himself as unorthodox – just as prone to getting into trouble. But as he turns the idea over in his mind, a certain peace steals over his thoughts. The Force is letting him know it’s the right choice.

He tries very hard not to think about the fact that Master Jinn is on Naboo, and currently without Padawan. That kind of wishful thinking is as dangerous as it is unlikely to lead anywhere. He’d met the man once, just once, and being hung up over him is perfectly ridiculous.

Many have wondered, some more politely than others, why Master Jinn remains at the Naboo Temple, when his actions and inclinations would rather place him in the less moderate and more rebellious Corellian Jedi Temple. This kind of speculation has been going strong for decades now, but Master Jinn either doesn’t know or doesn’t care. Either way, he seems disinclined to leave Naboo.

 

First he goes to see Bant because she was his oldest friend and would take his leaving the hardest. All Temples maintained a strong core of Jedi Healers, so she’d never been in danger of being re-assigned. Now only Reeft would remain with her.

She blinks sad eyes at him once he’s stumbled through the explanation but doesn’t look surprised.

“I’m sorry, Obi. I will miss you terribly.”

He leans into the embrace she offers freely. “Me too, Bantling.” Something in his tone must be giving away just how wretched he feels, for she pulls back a moment later.

“You listen to me, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” she says, as stern as she ever gets, “this may feel like your world is ending a little bit, but you will be just fine. I know you, you’ve always been able to make the best of things. And from what I’ve heard of the Naboo Temple you’ll fit right in.” Then her voice goes sly. “Besides, isn’t Master Jinn on Naboo?”

He blushes. “Shut up.”

 

With his small duffel back neatly packed and having seen Bant there remains only one more thing to do. Obi-Wan goes to find Bail.

Bail, as it turns out, is a step ahead of him and is waiting for Obi-Wan right outside the Temple.

“Who tipped you off?”

“I’ve got my sources,” Bail tells him, probably trying for mysterious, but he looks far too sad to make it work. “It’s true then?”

Obi-Wan nods. “My transport leaves tomorrow morning.”

In lieu of an answer Bail reels him in for a furious embrace. “I wish you could stay on Alderaan, but barring that I’ll just say, slay them dead on Naboo, yeah? The galaxy needs its Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan can feel himself blushing. “Don’t be ridiculous, Bail.”

Bail’s smile is tinged with unmistakeable fondness. “I’m not, though I doubt you’ll ever believe me.”

Obi-Wan decides to just ignore that whole statement. His life is easier that way.

“You will write?” Obi-Wan asks, trying to force the damning quaver out of his voice. Bail has been a constant here, just as much as Bant, and he knows he’ll miss the older boy.

Bail hugs him again, uncaring of any Jedi who might be watching. “Of course I will. Just try not to forget me, eh?”

Obi-Wan doesn’t know consciously, then, that Bail is just the kind of person who is so unflinchingly loyal to people and promises that he will receive frequent correspondence from the crown prince until the day he dies.

 

(2)

 

Obi-Wan’s chaperone for the trip turns out to be Quinlan Vos. The Padawan had been sent to Alderaan a few months ago, in the hopes that someone there could beat some amount of diplomacy into his head. As far as Obi-Wan had observed, his time on Alderaan hadn’t changed Quinlan one bit. Corellia may be the official maverick Temple (or at least that’s what Master Halcyon calls it while Master Gallia groans in the background), but privately Obi-Wan thinks that Naboo really seems to breed the crazy ones.

Which says something about his own character, probably. (For all his bitterness he doesn’t think the Alderaani Masters made the wrong choice, really.)

“So, what did you to get kicked to Naboo?” Quinlan asks once they’re in hyperspace, with typical tact.

Obi-Wan takes a moment to soothe the sting of that. He may have accepted that going to Naboo is the right thing for him – and it’s better than being mustered out entirely – but he’s still been told to leave the only home he’s ever known. No twelve year-old, not even a Jedi Initiate, can quite cope wit that without hurt.

“The teaching masters thought I’d do better on Naboo. My fencing needs to be sponsored more.”

Quinlan, who’s sparred against Obi-Wan in a moment of boredom, laughs. “You’re a firecracker with a lightsaber and don’t lie, Kenobi. The Masters are probably right on that one.”

There’s a _for once_ swinging unsaid behind that sentence, but even Quinlan is respectful enough not to say it out loud. Suddenly Obi-Wan feels a little better. He’d forgotten for a moment that he actually likes Quinlan, somewhat crazy or not. Besides he’d probably be nuts too if he had to live with psychometry.

The rest of the flight is uneventful, save for the mishap where they tried to spar in their cabin and slightly broke some of the furniture. Obi-Wan would’ve been mortified if he hadn’t been so busy laughing his head off.

 

 

(3)

The Naboo Temple was built in the style of elegant curved lines that the Naboo seem to favour, but it also melts into the surrounding fauna and mingles with it in a way Obi-Wan has never seen before. In pure terms of building, the Alderaan Temple would always remain the most beautiful to him, but it only takes a few breaths for him to realise that he could easily call this Temple home too. A peace lies over it that sinks into the soul and creeps into his heart. It isn’t unlike to the calm the hues of blue of his old Temple had called forth.

Quinlan smiles widely at the sight. “Ah, I can’t wait for my Master to go back to chasing me about the garden in the name of the living force.”

That statement doesn’t make much sense to Obi-Wan, but he’s distracted from asking by the arrival of several Jedi – and only just manages to avoid a double take at being greeted by the actual Head of the Naboo Temple. Master Tyvokka, a Wookie of considerable stature even for his species, is a warrior-diplomat of galactic renown who’d decided on Naboo as his place to settle down a bit now that he’s getting on in years. Obi-Wan also recognises Master Tholme and Master Drallig and guesses them to be some of his new teaching masters. Why else would they be greeting him? Master Jinn is nowhere to be seen, which is probably a good thing. Obi-Wan is only just holding on to his composure as it is.

Greetings and introductions pass in a blur of understanding smiles and soon he finds himself alone with Quinlan and Master Tholme and he almost slaps his own forehead because of course Master Tholme would be there – Quinlan is his Padawan after all.

Master Tholme turns to his Padawan. “Can you behave long enough to show Obi-Wan where he’ll be staying and show him the Temple layout?”

How Quinlan manages to muster a supremely innocent look in the face of such truth is beyond Obi-Wan. “I always behave, Master. Just not always like you want me to. Come on, Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan trails after him after exchanging a dubious look with Master Tholme and soon forgets everything but the building surrounding him. Not even Quinlan’s smirk at Obi-Wan’s open-mouthed appreciation of the vines twining throughout the structure, the open spaces lit by natural light from high windows, and the feeling of warmth surrounding him can dampen his reaction.

 

(4)

 

It takes a week for him to meet Master Jinn. In his free time Obi-Wan has taken to exploring the Temple and the surrounding gardens. On one such trip he stumbles over a small stream running through a clearing in between tall trees and before he can think of quieting his approach the man kneeling next to the stream turns his head to look at him. It’s not the long brown hair with its silver strands, the focused blue eyes or the crooked nose that strikes him first, but the utter serenity on the Master’s face.

Within a few seconds of meeting the man Obi-Wan understands perfectly why Master Jinn has chosen the Naboo Temple as his home. The Master’s force signature fairly _blooms_ in its surroundings, resonating with the sheer amount of life that saturates the building and its surroundings. Truthfully, it is a little overwhelming to sense, just how in tune he is with the plants and animals and everything in between around the Temple.

No, Qui-Gon Jinn would not be content on a city planet like Corellia.

Master Jinn’s lips have quirked into a faintly amused smile and Obi-Wan realises with a jolt that he’s been staring. Red rises in his damnably pale cheeks.

Giving a hasty bow, he mumbles, “My apologies, Master. I didn’t mean to intrude on your solitude.”

He’s only managed one hasty step backwards when Master Jinn speaks, his voice deep and calm. “Sometimes solitude needs to be disturbed. Come, the plants want to meet you.”

Obi-Wan blinks. _The plants want to meet him?_

But he moves forward obediently and sinks into the slightly wet grass next to Master Jinn. The older Jedi seems to be waiting for him to say something, so he ventures, “I don’t think any plant has wanted to meet me before, Master.”

“Hmm,” Master Jinn says, absently brushing his hand over the grass. “Alderaan is all about mountains and lakes. Not as communicative.”

That… doesn’t exactly clear up Obi-Wan’s confusion but he’ll take Master Jinn’s word for it.

“Lay your hand on the grass,” Master Jinn instructs.

Obi-Wan is still somewhat baffled by this turn of events, but curiosity starts rearing its head and he does as he’s bid. The grass is cool beneath his fingers, smooth and damp. It isn’t, however, talking to him as far as he can tell.

“Relax. Feel. Let the Force flow through you.” Master Jinn’s voice has turned soft and melodic, compelling even by Jedi Master standards. “Narrow your focus to the life around you. You can feel its life everywhere, saturating the Force and with the Force _you_.”

Obi-Wan has fallen into the deep rhythmic breathing of meditation, doing his best to follow Master Jinn’s instructions. He _can_ feel light and life around him, twisting and writhing through the plants and the earth.

“Now focus on the blades of grass under your fingers. Feel only them, nothing else.”

That takes longer, but after several minutes of getting distracted by an insect flitting there and the wind stirring here, his senses have attuned to several blades of grass, shining with incandescent light behind his closed eyelids.

Distantly he realises that Master Jinn has fallen silent and yet a murmur persists, a hushed background noise that is less sound than feeling. A sense of curiosity and pleasure and warmth.

Obi-Wan can’t quite stop himself from laughing with delight. So that is what Master Jinn meant – when you’re silent enough yourself, then _anything_ will talk to you.

He opens his eyes again to a different world and Master Jinn’s smile.

 

(5)

 

They meet regularly now, in the hallways and gardens, when Obi-Wan’s training with his lightsabre and when he’s meditating. Master Jinn doesn’t always halt his errands, but more often than not they exchange a few words, and sometimes the Jedi Master gives him pointers on how to improve his technique in katas and sparring.

It takes Obi-Wan a few weeks to realise that they’re getting _comfortable_ with each other – he with Master Jinn’s instruction and streak of mischievousness, and Master Jinn with Obi-Wan’s skill levels and bouts of dry sarcasm. Thoughts, or perhaps more accurately _dreams_ , of becoming the man’s Padawan one day get harder and harder to ignore. Obi-Wan knows the folly of hoping for something he has no good reason to suspect will actually happen, and yet sometimes he thinks the Force is pushing them both towards that very point.

If so, it’s playing a long game. The year dwindles and Obi-Wan’s thirteenth birthday looms ever closer. He’s been made aware that the Naboo Temple doesn’t consider an initiate who’s failed to attract a Master by their thirteenth birthday as a failed Jedi, and that there are plenty of initiates who get accepted older than that, but in his bones Obi-Wan still feels like it would be the end. Thirteen is the traditional cut-off point and to go beyond it would be painful to say the least.

It’s a month to his birthday and every time he meets Master Jinn his heart skips a little beat, only to settle heavier than before when they part ways again, the question he’s hoping for unasked. (In his more rational moments Obi-Wan almost manages to laugh at himself – he really needs to work on Jedi serenity, it seems.)

Two weeks before his birthday Master Jinn finds him in one of the small indoor gardens, watching butterflies dance through the air instead of meditating.

He sits down next to Obi-Wan, uncaring of the dampness of the grass after its morning cycle watering.

“You knew me before we first met,” he says, abrupt even for him and Obi-Wan darts a surprised glance at him.

“That’s not quite right, Master. We’ve met before, on Alderaan.”

Master Jinn frowns, trying to place the event in question.

“I, well, I accidentally helped you foil the assassination of the crown prince when I was six.” He stares into the distance, lost in memory. “It was the first time I really, _consciously_ felt the Force nudge me into a certain path, or I never would’ve stumbled into Bail’s legs at the right moment. Afterwards most of my Masters reprimanded me for putting myself into danger, but not you. You just looked and me and said ‘remember, following the Force isn’t always the easy path’.” Obi-Wan looks up to meet Master Jinn’s penetrating gaze. “I’ve never forgotten.”

Something resolves in the Jedi Master’s gaze at that and when he drops to one knee in front of Obi-Wan his expression is serene once more. “Obi-Wan Kenobi, will you do me the honour of becoming my Padawan?”

For a moment Obi-Wan just stares at him, mouth slightly open as he’s forgotten to breathe. Somehow, he really hadn’t expected this despite the Force’s insistent prodding over the last few weeks.

“Yes!” he finally manages to say, trying in vain to keep a lid on his bubbling emotions. “Yes, of course.”

Master Jinn, Master _Qui-Gon_ , rises and doesn’t seem at all perturbed that Obi-Wan’s smile could probably power a sun.

“I did not wish to be cruel in letting you wait so long,” he says quietly, “but I needed to be certain this was the right path for me. I haven’t had a student in a long time.”

Obi-Wan nods, happiness still ballooning behind his sternum. “I understand, Master.”

 

(6)

Obi-Wan’s life changes, entirely without his notice, the day that he meets Padme Amidala.

He’s in Theed on an errand – something about seeing whether the market had a specific plant that Master Kerra desperately needed for some experiment or other, he hadn’t asked – and in very real danger of getting lost. He hadn’t been to the capital alone before, and though he hitched a ride with an older Padawan, he’s now wandering around the huge market place with very little idea of which direction he’s going and a plant clutched to his chest. At least it’s a nice plant (and one that he’s been assured is _not_ dangerous).

A sudden tug at his tunics makes him peer past the plant’s voluminous leaves. A small girl with elaborately braided dark hair and a red dress is looking up at him.

“Are you lost, Master Jedi?”

“A little,” he admits to the pure empathetic force of her big eyes. “And I’m not even close to being a master, I’m just a padawan.”

“But it’s _polite_ ,” the girl insists with all the righteousness of someone barely out of toddler-years. “I’m Padmé.”

“Obi-Wan,” he returns and executes a perfect bow despite the plant in his arms, much to her delight.

“Where are you lost to?” she asks him once she’s stopped giggling.

He smiles at her determination to be helpful. “Well, I was supposed to meet my ride back to the Jedi Temple at speeder station 1, uh” – he checks his chrono – “half an hour ago. She’s probably gone already.”

“Speeder station 1 is that way,” Padme tells him, and points in the direction he’d been coming from.

He sighs. Of course it is. A quick check with the Force tells him that it’d be useless to return there now anyway. Padawan Secura had been in a hurry.

“I guess I’ll just have to walk,” he says, somewhat dubiously. It’s at least fifteen miles to the Temple. He could _probably_ manage it by nightfall if he hurried. “Could you, um, point me in the right direction to the Temple?”

Padmé scrunches up her nose and it’s entirely adorable, though he gets the feeling she wouldn’t appreciate being told as much.

“You can’t walk that far,” she tells him authoritatively and tugs on his tunics again. “Come on.”

“Where are we going?” Obi-Wan asks, mystified, but he’s already following the little girl as if she was a Jedi Master. She had a lot of _presence_ for one so young.

Before Padmé can answer she appears to spot her target and calls out, “Mama! Papa! I’ve brought a guest.”

Two adults with equally dark hair and a similar bearing that immediately reminds him of Padme turn around from where they’re perusing the contents of a cloth stall. The father, Obi-Wan  notes, looks very much like he wants to roll his eyes which makes him suspect that this isn’t the first time Padmé has dragged a stranger around with her, whilst the mother just smiles indulgently.

“Is that so, little star.”

Padmé nods. “His name is Obi-Wan.”

Obi-Wan bows, one hand still held tightly by Padmé, the other arm busy holding onto the plant pot. He probably looks ridiculous. “At your service.”

Padmé giggles, a sound far more appropriate to her age than the flashes of deep solemnity in her brown eyes. “He’s lost and he needs to get back to the Temple.”

“I can walk if you direct me – ” Obi-Wan tries, but Padmé’s parents seem equally uninclined to let the matter rest and her father interrupts him almost immediately.

“Of course we are going to drive you. The Temple is several hours away on foot.” He holds out his hand. “I’m Ruwee Naberrie, and this is Jobal, my wife.”

Letting go of Padmé, Obi-Wan shakes his hand and smiles at Jobal, whilst Padmé pokes him in the side.

“I told you we would drive you,” she informs him.

He smiles at her too in an effort to smooth the little frown lines on her forehead. “I know, Padmé, but I didn’t want to be a burden.”

“It’s barely out of our way,” Jobal puts in, voice quiet but assured. “We live out in the lake country.”

“Very well, then I’m grateful. At least this way Master Kerra won’t wonder what I’ve been doing with their plant.”

He follows Ruwee and Jobal as they wind their way back through the market.

There’s a spark of mischievousness in Ruwee’s eyes as he remarks, “Besides, these _nyla_ plants require regular watering.”

Obi-Wan can’t quite help his panicked look downwards. To his relief, the leaves are still green and vibrant and decidedly not in the process of withering from lack of sustenance.

“It’s hardly fair to tease a non-gardener like this,” Obi-Wan complains, but can hardly hold on to his stern expression in the face of Padmé’s bright-eyes laughter at his credulity.

The speeder ride back to the Temple passes in a similar fashion, not loud or boisterous, but warmly welcoming small-talk that manages to not feel like small-talk at all. What amounts to most of his life story is coaxed from him in between discussions of how he likes Naboo and what his favourite places are, and they tell him some of what their own lives entail. Padmé is about to start school – a fact she is fiercely delighted about – and absolutely everyone who knows her is convinced she’ll go far in whatever area she wants to apply her energies to.

It’s the first time he doesn’t stare at the overgrown Temple entrance on approach, too busy making Padmé laugh by hovering one of her hair pins over his palm with the Force, and somehow he walks away from the entire experience with an invitation to dinner the next week. Qui-Gon takes one look at his wayward Padawan, his frazzled appearance and the plant clutched in his arms, and proceeds to laugh himself sick.

(He does allow Obi-Wan to go to dinner at the Naberrie lake house though, so he doesn’t mind.)

 

(7)

 

The morning run through the outer (wilder) gardens has become a fixture of Obi-Wan’s day, ever since his new Master had thrown him out of bed just before sunrise, said, a twinkle in his eyes, “Let me introduce you to a tradition of ours,” and proceeded to chase him through what felt like the entire vegetation of Naboo before letting him have breakfast.

It takes him several weeks to realise that if he’s in tune enough with his surroundings the plants bend out of his way, letting him brush by without harming them or him in the process. Even armed with that knowledge, it takes him the better part of the year until he can reliably do the run without either ending up on his behind or getting tangled in any bits of vegetation. Watching Master Qui-Gon do it is a great motivator, though – seeing the tall man slip through trees and bushes and tangled vines as if they were water never fails to humble him.

“Have you learned the lesson yet?”

“The one that says you’re an evil man, that the Naboo Temple likes to torture its Padawans, or that nature is out to get me? One of these days I’ll be able to make up my mind which one it is.”

“One of these days your tongue will get you in trouble, Padawan-mine,” Qui-Gon says mildly. The last time his Master sounded like that Obi-Wan had been deposited in a nearby pond not a moment later.

Narrowing his eyes suspiciously, Obi-Wan leans back against an obliging tree while trying to remind his lungs how they’re supposed to function. But Master Qui-Gon doesn’t seem to be in the mood of dunking his upstart of a Padawan this morning – though the run has left him largely unruffled as usual, there’s something considering in his eyes.

“I have it on good authority we’ll be cleared for non-diplomatic fieldwork soon.”

That makes Obi-Wan straighten. “Truly?”

“Truly. You’re ready, and the Council has agreed with me.” Qui-Gon’s lips twitch sardonically. “In truth, I think you’ve been ready for a while, but the Council is always more cautious with late transfers.”

Obi-Wan only just suppresses his reflexive scowl. Sometimes it feels like his temple reassignment after the second choosing will never stop haunting him.

A warm hand comes to rest on his shoulder, and Obi-Wan blinks up into Qui-Gon’s kind eyes.

“Don’t think too much on it, Padawan. You’re a credit to the Naboo Temple and some more experience before going into the field is never harmful.”

As it has always been, a few words from his Master are enough settle a ball of glowing happiness in Obi-Wan’s chest.

“Yes, Master,” he says, and resolves to do his very best on any mission given to them. He might not have lost anything more than a bit of pride by being admitted to fieldwork later than usual, but that doesn’t mean he can’t show the Council exactly how unnecessary their caution was.

Qui-Gon sighs ruefully.

(Their first assignment ends in a shoot-out of such proportions that both Obi-Wan and Qui-Gon return from it rather more perforated than they went into, but they’re both still alive and Master Tholme even looks vaguely impressed when they give their report so Obi-Wan counts it as a win.)

 

(8)

 

It takes a week of dreaming of a blue-eyed boy with sandy hair and the power of the sun shining from every pore for Obi-Wan to go to his Master. The dark circles under his eyes tell a tale of their own – though the dreams aren’t bad, aren’t _nightmares_ (of which he has plenty), it’s not exactly restive to watch a hurricane of a boy, just barely contained, every time he falls asleep.

Master Qui-Gon, who’s been distantly occupied with some kind of plant growth project of Master Kerra’s, takes one look at him and says, “Dreams or visions?”

Obi-Wan shrugs, too tired to be irritated at himself for being so obvious. “Can’t tell. But if it’s dreams than they’re very consistently of the same thing.”

Qui-Gon’s eyes sharpened. “Tell me.”

With his Master’s probing questions to remind him, Obi-Wan recalls even more of the strange dreams, course sand and heat and an overwhelming love for his mother that’s an emotional transference that really messes with his head.

At the end of it all Qui-Gon looks unaccountably tense, drawing a hand through his long hair. It’s a tell Obi-Wan hasn’t seen often.

“Master? What do you think it means?”

“I don’t know, Padawan,” Qui-Gon sighs. “The Force is unsettled. My instincts tell me you’ve discovered a strong Force-sensitive, but it seems this matter is… more complicated than usual.”

Obi-Wan frowns. “Shouldn’t we search for him?”

Qui-Gon stands up, features settling into the steely-eyed determination Obi-Wan knows intimately. This is his Master on a mission.

“Yes, we should. And given what we know we have to hope that he’s in our catchment area because the Naboo Temple might be his only chance.”

Obi-Wan thinks of the love he felt so clearly despite the parsecs of space that surely separate them and can only nod. Making this boy leave his mother would surely be a disaster in the making.

“Come, let’s go to the map room,” Qui-Gon orders, already half-way out the door and Obi-Wan follows quickly.

 

(9)

 

The moment Obi-Wan steps foot onto Tatooine he knows it’s the right place. Even after the Force had guided his hand in the map room to point at this specific planet, he’d still harboured some doubts – the galaxy is a big place, after all, and Tatooine might just have been the first step in finding the boy. But now, standing in heat that shimmers in the air and sand already stuck in his clothes and hair, the Force is practically screaming at him that _this is it_. He doesn’t know why he is the one who needs to find this boy, why he needs to be on Tatooine right now, in this moment, but he does and he is and Qui-Gon is standing next to him, solid and comforting.

Qui-Gon hasn’t bothered asking him whether Tatooine is the right place to be – he can feel it just as easily as Obi-Wan can.

“Where to now?” he asks neutrally, appearing entirely unconcerned by letting Obi-Wan dictate their actions. He’s never been one for formality between Master and Padawan, and has allowed Obi-Wan quite a lot of leeway from the beginning. Now that Obi-Wan is twenty and (possibly) nearing his trials, his Master is careful to let him lead more so he can gather experience.

Obi-Wan closes his eyes and stretches his senses, then opens them again with a gasp. The power that’s radiating from the south is almost tangible in the air. He consults his internal map of the planet and says, “Mos Espa.”

Qui-Gon nods in approval and goes to get the speeder so they don’t need have to trek through the desert on foot or move their small ship.

Mos Espa can be described as a heap of rowdy citizens and crime if one is generous. In the first five minutes Obi-Wan witnesses three pick-pockets at work, a group of Dugs cornering someone in a shadowed alley, and a Jawa chittering so loudly and angrily at its recalcitrant mount that everyone’s giving them a wide berth. A little in front of him Qui-Gon strides through the streets like he’s been born to them. But then again, his Master has always thrived in environments like this, much to the displeasure of some of the more stodgy Jedi on the occasions that they hear of his exploits.  Obi-Wan would rather swallow his tongue than admit that he secretly enjoys this side of his Master, but he’s pretty certain that Qui-Gon knows anyway. Besides he’s always been rather amused by some of the more traditionalist leanings the Alderaan Temple had managed to instil in his Padawan, mostly because Obi-Wan has proven quite capable of ignoring them whenever it suits him.

By the time they reach the slave quarters, an area ironically rather cleaner and safer looking than much of what they’ve passed through already, Obi-Wan can feel the boy’s power crawling along his skin like warm ants. He doesn’t have to focus at all to lead them through the maze of low dwellings until he stops at the back of one that looks no different from all the surrounding ones.

The sun is already low on the horizon, admitting pockets of shadows and bathing everything else in a soft orange light that seems at odd with the atmosphere of Mos Espa. From behind, it bathes the woman bent over a basket in the small courtyard into a halo of light. At their approach she straightens and turns, and Obi-Wan is immediately struck by the kindness in her weathered face that spoke equally of pain and deprivation and gentleness.

The woman stares at them for a moment, then she says, “Are you the Jedi?”

Qui-Gon raises an eyebrow. They may be in their Jedi tunics, but both of them are wearing fairly drab ponchos that hide their utility belts and lightsabers. “How do you know?”

“I dreamed it, these last few weeks. So has my son.”

Obi-Wan exchanges a quietly surprised look with his Master. In silent answer Obi-Wan raises his arms and lets the poncho slide up to reveal his lightsaber.

For the first time the woman seems truly affected, sagging to lean against the wall. “Thank the suns,” she breathes.

Qui-Gon opens his mouth to say something else, but is interrupted by a worried shout from inside the dwelling.

“Mum? Is everything all right?”

A moment later a small boy appears in the doorway and Obi-Wan has to suppress the urge to make a startled sound. The boy looks _exactly_ like he’s dreamed, down to the freckles sprinkled across his nose, and his presence is extraordinary for someone who couldn’t be older than five.

“I’m fine, Ani,” the woman replies, and suddenly her shoulders are relaxed again and her voice calm. It speaks of a control over herself that even some Jedi would admire.

Then the boy’s eyes fall on them and widen comically. “Mum, is that them? They look like the Jedi I dreamed off!”

His mother smiles at him, warm and gentle and so very fond. “Yes, I think they are. Come, let us not be rude. Would you come inside?”

The last was directed at them and Qui-Gon nodded, Obi-Wan following suit. The inside of the hovel is pleasantly cool compared to the heat outside, and though sparsely furnished it feels like a home.

The boy, whom his mother introduces as Anakin, chatters on enthusiastically throughout the small meal that follows. Obi-Wan, somewhat to his shame, finds himself tuning the young voice out as he thinks over the implications of their find of these two extraordinary people until a question catches his attention.

“Are you here to rescue us as I dreamed?”

Hope shines from Anakin’s face, pure as only a child’s can be, and tugs at Obi-Wan’s already sore heart. Shmi, he notices, looks rather less expectant, a resigned slant to her mouth that Obi-Wan would bet hasn’t been absent from her face for long years now.

“We have some funds available for situations like this,” Qui-Gon says, face drawn in worry, “but possibly not enough for both of you.”

Anakin’s face falls so dramatically that Obi-Wan almost forgets to breathe for a moment. Shmi’s face remains calm.

No one speaks.

Then Obi-Wan says abruptly, “Let me make a call.”

He disappears from the table before Qui-Gon can assent, but he doubts his Master will mind. By nature of their Order, the Jedi do not have access to as many funds as most governments, or even most large groups united by a common purpose. Jedi do not get paid for their service and their Temples are mostly self-sufficient in terms of food, except for the ones on Coruscant and Corellia, so they do not accept more monetary gifts than what they truly can use and need. All the Temples have savings for hard times, but those aren’t to be used by simple field pairs.

It only takes a moment for Ruwee to answer his comm-call.

“Obi-Wan?” His slightly staticky voice sounds surprised and Obi-Wan can’t blame him. He’s never called the Naberries while on a mission before.

“We’ve run into a problem,” Obi-Wan tells him bluntly. “The boy we went out to find is a slave and so is his mother. The Temple funds don’t cover both their cost if we want to give them their freedom. I know you used to work for the anti-slavery front on Naboo – what does one have to do to get their aid?”

Ruwee listens to all this quietly and makes a considering sound. “I can get you in touch with them. Is this time-sensitive?”

Obi-Wan hesitates. “They are not being physically mistreated as far as I can tell, but…the boy is close to being old for entrance into the Temple. I’m sure Master Qui-Gon could find a way anyway, but it would be easier to avoid the issue. And now that I know them I find myself impatient for them to be free.”

“Encountering slavery has that effect,” Ruwee agrees, sounding grim. “I’ll see what I can do. I can always let Padmé loose on the committee if need be. She’s been getting slightly bored as Queen anyway.”

Obi-Wan terminates the call with renewed hope. If anyone can help them it’s the Naberrie family – terribly smart and determined, the lot of them.

 

(10)

 

Anakin blooms on Naboo.

It takes a little while for the little boy to get used to the idea that he can stay here as long as he wants to, that he is free, that no one is going to come and take him away, least of all Watto. Shmi is a great help, their familiar bond calming Anakin down like nothing else can and Obi-Wan has found himself watching the two of them with a small smile on his face far more often than he’s really comfortable with. He wonders when he became so invested in their fate.

Some of it probably stems from the way Anakin has… imprinted on him, for lack of a better word. Someone must’ve told the boy about Obi-Wan’s role in freeing him and his mother, for he sought him out on the way back to Naboo, eyes wide and so sincere it almost hurt to look at them, and thanked him for helping them when he didn’t have to. Obi-Wan’s reply that it was what any Jedi would’ve done did nothing to deter Anakin following him around whenever he isn’t kept busy in the crèche. (Obi-Wan’s estimation of the crèche’s effectiveness drops considerably in the following months – clearly the children are under-worked if Anakin can spend so much time asking Obi-Wan to teach him things.

Qui-Gon thinks the entire affair is hilarious. Of course he does. Worst of all, Obi-Wan doesn’t even find himself that grumpy about it. Anakin is so unrelentingly sunny in disposition that it turns out to be very hard to keep playing the scrooge when he’s around.

It all comes to a proverbial head about a year after Anakin’s entrance to the Naboo Temple, when he plops himself down next to Obi-Wan during his morning meditation and asks, without any kind of hesitation, “Will you be my Master someday, Obi-Wan?”

Jolted out of his peaceful reverie, Obi-Wan stares at the six year-old. “What?”

“Will you be my Master someday?” Anakin repeats, sounding entirely as matter-of-fact as when he’d first voiced this baffling question.

Obi-Wan scrabbles for a reply – and where exactly has Anakin got this idea from anyway? – opens his mouth several times only to close it again when realising that he didn’t have a good answer to the question. Well, no answer beyond _hell no where’s this coming from I’m the last person who should be your Master_ , which might be a trifle insensitive.

“Aren’t you a bit young to be thinking about this?” he asks slightly desperately. It’s entirely hypocritical of him, considering he well remembers being that age and already looking at Masters with something of a calculating eye, wondering which of them – if any – might be his Master one day.

Anakin shrugs. “I know I want it to be you. Why wait?”

Obi-Wan feels distinctly out of his depth. “You do realise I’m still a Padawan, right?”

“Master Qui-Gon says you’ll be knighted soon,” Anakin says, with every confidence.

Obi-Wan frowns. Qui-Gon hasn’t mentioned that to him, which seems a little discourteous, seeing as he’s apparently let the kid who’s lobbying to be Obi-Wan’s first Padawan know.

“Be that as it may, I will still be very young when you’re of an age to become a Padawan.”

“I don’t mind though, and as long as you don’t there won’t be a problem!” Anakin points out with infallible logic and smiles at him brightly. “The Force agrees with me.”

“It does?” Obi-Wan echoes somewhat faintly. To be told of the will of the Force with such certainty… well, actually, that’s been happening to him a lot since he came to the Naboo Temple.

Anakin nods once, decisively. “That settles it then.”

He leans forward to give Obi-Wan a quick hug and then skips off to do Force-knows what. Probably poke at some lonely droid in the engineering rooms. It takes a moment for Obi-Wan’s brain to catch up and then he scowls. The scamp made off before Obi-Wan could further argue the point. A good strategy, admittedly, if also a very _vexing_ one.

Obi-Wan remains behind in the garden, with the impression that he’s just been expertly steamrolled. He looks after Anakin’s retreating back, head cocked as listens to the currents of the Force. Ah. He _has_ been expertly steamrolled – if not by Anakin then by the Force. Grumbling quietly to himself he sets about coming to terms with his impending Mastership to the most precocious boy he’s ever met. At least the trials don’t seem like such a daunting prospect anymore.

 

(11)

 

He was wrong.

So wrong, in fact, that it borders on ironic. The trials may not have been daunting, but what ends up _standing in_ for his trials is in fact the most pant-shittingly scary experience of his entire life and he’s been Qui-Gon ‘Madman’ Jinn’s Padawan for almost ten years.

They’ve been taught about Sith in class, but there hasn’t been a sighting in centuries. And yet Obi-Wan is mind-numbingly certain that the body cleaved in half at the bottom of the royal palace’s melting pit belongs to exactly that class of ancient enemies of the Jedi. He barely even needs the Force whispering in agreement to know that – the Zabrak’s stink in the Force was unmistakeably dark and twisted while he was still breathing. Next to him, staring down into the pit with a tired expression, Qui-Gon clears his throat.

“Congratulations, Knight Kenobi. I do believe he’s dead.”

“I cut him in _half_ , Master,” Obi-Wan says, voice somewhat high-pitched. “Of course he’s dead.” Then his brain catches up with the rest of what Qui-Gon said and his mouth drops open. “What, really?”

Qui-Gon’s smile is small but undeniably proud. “I doubt anyone can devise a more trying trial than what you have just lived through, Obi-Wan. I have no doubt that the Naboo council will ratify my decision. Master Tyvokka has always been reasonable.”

He’s got a point there.  Still. “If these are the trials then I could’ve done without becoming a knight,” Obi-Wan says with feeling. It startles a laugh out of his Master. Former Master. Force, this will take some getting used to.

“Yes, well, not everyone’s are as dramatic as these.” Qui-Gon’s eyes are twinkling. “Not that I expected anything else from you.”

“Hey,” Obi-Wan protests half-heartedly.

Qui-Gon claps him on his good shoulder. “It’s not your fault you’re a trouble magnet. Come, we should let your future Padawan know you haven’t been chopped to mincemeat. And have someone look at our wounds.”

The insistent throbbing in his left shoulder agrees and suddenly Obi-Wan is too weary even to complain about the ‘future Padawan’ comment. Just because Anakin had laid claim to him doesn’t mean Qui-Gon has to rub it in at every possible opportunity.

When he glances over, Qui-Gon’s expression has darkened. “Besides, the councils will have to be informed of what happened here.”

Obi-Wan nods. The possible consequences of the return of the Sith have been percolating in the back of his mind ever since they first saw the Zabrak infiltrating the palace. He can’t say he likes any of them.

“This feels like a beginning,” he says quietly.

Qui-Gon throws him a sidelong glance. “I would say ‘I hope you’re wrong’, but it’s not like you’ve ever been in the past when it comes to these things.”

Obi-Wan smiles tiredly. “Believe me, I could do without it. Prescience is a pain.”

This time Qui-Gon lets his hand rest on Obi-Wan’s shoulder, as if to say _no argument from me_. The future may be uncertain, but Obi-Wan’s sure that it’ll be far more exciting than he would wish for.

 

(12)

 

Later Obi-Wan will mostly remember the light in Anakin’s eyes when they proclaim their intended partnership before the Council. Anakin had never doubted this day would come – though Obi-Wan has come as close to arguing with one of the Council over this matter as he ever has – and yet he still manages to appear like a fountain of joy in the Force when it is made official. In the back of the small chamber full of air-freshening blooms Qui-Gon is leaning against the wall with a proud little smile and Shmi looks close to crying next to him. Most of Anakin’s training masters have turned up, and many of his old crèche clan, and the Force is humming in contentment so pure that only a Force-blind rock could argue against the match. Which, come to think of it, is probably the only reason they _are_ giving their most unorthodox student to a Jedi who has only just attained his knighthood two years earlier.

Quite without mental input Obi-Wan’s fingers have finished braiding the little twig of a Padawan braid that Anakin will no doubt have fun growing out and he steps back.

 _Take care of him_ the Force seems to say. Obi-Wan has no intention whatsoever to the contrary, and – he is quite certain – neither does Anakin’s brand-new Grandmaster.

 

(13)

 

Bail’s wedding invitation is the perfect officially-sanctioned excuse to drag Anakin off-planet without having to be wary of getting shot at. The two of them haven’t really had a quiet mission since they were officially cleared for action shortly before Anakin’s fifteenth birthday and in the privacy of his own mind Obi-Wan will admit to some tiredness. Fifteen is already later than usual – later, even, than Obi-Wan – but Anakin had come to the Temple a year or two older than the norm and the teaching masters had wanted to be certain that his mind could withstand the emotional toll that fieldwork could exact. Besides, considering some of the missions they ended up going on, Obi-Wan has never been anything but fiercely grateful that Anakin was allowed that time to mature, no matter how much the boy griped about it. Somewhat to Obi-Wan’s amusement, no one had tried to argue that Anakin wasn’t physically ready for it – the boy’s lightsaber technique has been coming along very nicely.

He certainly finds it appropriate that Anakin’s first visit to another Jedi Temple would be Obi-Wan’s former home. Not to mention that he could introduce his Padawan to Bail – the man had been pestering him for details about his young protégé incessantly for years, and this visit would hopefully prove a boon for Obi-Wan’s beleaguered inbox.

Alighting on Alderaan, Anakin’s eyes are as huge as they always are when he gets to go to another planet, taking in the sights and culture with avid interest. He may not be the small boy who declared that he would visit every planet in the galaxy with wonder in his eyes anymore, but there’s still enough of that boy left to warm Obi-Wan’s heart.

(Sometimes he imagines Anakin growing up in any other Temple than Naboo and his heart grows cold. Naboo nurtured parts of Anakin that are precious, yet not what a traditional Jedi might term such.)

Impossibly, Anakin’s eyes widen further when Bail steps forward and, quite without ceremony, envelops Obi-Wan in a crushing hug.

“That’s for staying away for so long, Obi-Wan Kenobi,” Bail murmurs into his ear, quite aware that Obi-Wan’s face has coloured into something approaching _mortified red_.

“Yes, well.” He clears his throat over the sound of his Padawan’s delighted snickers. “I wonder why with this kind of greeting.”

He doesn’t mean a word of it, as Bail is fully aware going by his blinding smile when he draws back.

“This is my Padawan, Anakin Skywalker,” Obi-Wan says, waving towards Anakin who looks torn between glee and worry that he’s about to get jumped too.

Bail very seriously extends his hand and Anakin fails to look anything but entirely relieved when they shake in greeting.

“I’m assuming you’ve already arranged a schedule for us?”

Bail raises an eyebrow. “Of course. However, there is less on it than you might expect.”

Obi-Wan can’t help but perk up at that and Bail rolls his eyes.

“I’m hogging you for the rest of the day, but you’re free tomorrow and the day after because I’ve been relegated to the clutches of my future in-laws for fittings and the like, so you’ll have time to visit the Temple and see some of Aldera  if you wish. And then the wedding itself will take most of the day after that.” His eyes glint mischievously. “I do believe there are a few old friends who want to take advantage of your visit.”

Obi-Wan only smiles but Anakin looks alarmed. “A whole _day_ for a wedding?”

“Royal weddings are a complicated business,” Obi-Wan tells him, climbing into the waiting ground car after Bail, who sighs in agreement.

“You don’t even know the half of it.”

Obi-Wan grimaces. “I’m certain you’ll have thoroughly enlightened me by the end of the day.”

Bail’s attempt at looking innocent fails spectacularly, mostly because he can’t stop himself from grinning.

 

Obi-Wan can’t say he expected Padmé to be among the old friends keen to see him, but in retrospect he perhaps should have. She and Bail get among famously, after all, as they wage a two-people war against the deficiencies of the Senate.

“It’s been too long,” he tells her, not even bothering to veil his delight. He hasn’t seen Padmé since she left finished her royal tenure and accepted a posting as a Senator two years ago.

She grins back at him, obviously equally pleased. “I like the beard. Very mature.”

Obi-Wan sighs. Anakin looks like he’s found a new religion.

 

Much later in the day, sitting over a quiet glass of something deceptively strong, Padmé’s face has smoothed into a seriousness Obi-Wan remembers well from her days as a Queen. Suddenly he’s glad that Anakin is off with Bail, admiring the Crown Prince’s new spaceship.

“Things aren’t looking good,” she tells him, sounding both weary and frustrated. “More and more systems are talking about seceding from the Republic and we _still_ have no idea where all this is originating from.”

He raises an eyebrow and takes a sip of the as yet unidentified alcohol. “You think the Senate’s corruption and more and more ridiculous taxation laws aren’t enough of  a reason?”

“The Senate has been a mess for a long time.” Padmé shakes her head. “Yes, it’s getting worse at the moment, but there’re always highs and lows in politics. Usually that doesn’t lead to the dissolving of governmental structures.”

“You think someone’s pulling the strings?”

“I think there’s more to it than we know. The Confederacy seems to have no figurehead, but we know quite a few corporations like the Trade Federation have thrown in their lot with them.” Padmé fiddles with the rim of her glass, a grim slant to her mouth. “Their grievances are understandable, and something we _need_ to sort out, but I fear where this is going.”

Obi-Wan can only nod silently, mind flashing to the Sith. The Jedi haven’t heard anything since his defeat of the Zabrak on Naboo ten years ago, but Obi-Wan has never quite been able to shake the feeling that they were still out there, still waiting for their chance. Widespread galactic political unrest _could_ conceivably be a coincidence, but it seems unlikely.

“There’s nothing we can do but be vigilant,” he says sombrely.

Padmé pulls a face, but can’t disagree.

“Change of topic?” he offers, and suddenly she grins.

“So, how about that Padawan of yours then?”

“All of you lot just want me for my Padawan these days,” Obi-Wan grumbles, then stops in mid-motion of bringing his glass to his lips. The Force is being very insistent about something… his eyebrows shoot up and he looks at Padmé consideringly.

His Padawan and Padmé.

Huh.

 

(14)

 

Even the tranquil air of the Naboo Temple is tense as of late, with the first stirrings of war rolling like shockwaves over every planet, however neutral. The day after the meeting of all 10 councils brings the official statement of the Jedi Order regarding the brewing conflict between the newly coined ‘Separatists’ and the Republic and with it a new height of tension.

Obi-Wan, Qui-Gon, Anakin, and Shmi are clustered around the old holo screen in Qui-Gon’s rooms, which has rarely held their attention to such an extent in the past.

“The Jedi have declared their neutrality in this matter,” Mace Windu is saying, voice slightly distorted through the speakers. Even on camera he looks tired, a pall over his features that isn’t helped by the subdued colours of the Senate chamber. “We cannot take sides in a conflict that would pit Jedi Temples against each other simply as a matter of where in the galaxy they lie. Our mandate is to help the citizens of the galaxy – _all_ of them. We will assist with any matters that are not concerned with a possible war between the Republic and the Confederacy, and would of course offer our services as mediators to avoid such an occurrence. But we will not fight each other. We remain apolitical in this, as we have striven to be in the past.” His gaze sweeps the vast chamber with an intensity that few can muster. “Thank you.”

A similar speech is being delivered by Master Koon in front of the Confederate Parliament. Master Windu represents the Temples firmly inside the Republic’s borders – Coruscant, Alderaan etc. – whilst Master Koon speaks for the ones settled in what is now considered Confederate territory – Rhen Var etc.

A day later an emissary from Kamino alights on Coruscant, claiming the Jedi have commissioned a _clone army_ from them. A hasty consultation with all Temples settles that no one seems to have actually done so, but the emissary remains unmoved. Master Yoda dispatches himself to Kamino to investigate the matter – and returns with a battle-ready ship full of Clones, who all claim to be under the command of the Jedi. The Senate wastes no time in attempting to seize control of the fortuitous army, in order to fight the budding ‘Separatist threat’. The Kaminoan reply to that idea is short and succinct and can be summed up in one word: no.  The somewhat longer explanation refers to the Clones having been commissioned (and paid for) by the Jedi, thus being an army of the Jedi, not the Republic. Whilst there is some professional curiosity as to how they would do in real combat situations, their creators really do not care overly much what is done with them now that their part is over. The Jedi answer is much the same, mostly because one can hardly avoid war once both parties are armed to the teeth.

This has three consequences: one, the Republic Senate is in an uproar, two, the Confederate Parliament is in an uproar, and three, a lot of Clones arrive at the doors of every Jedi Temple, looking disturbingly like lost kittens for people outfitted in armour and enough weapons to fight an intergalactic war. Incidentally, this third consequence leads to the Jedi being in an uproar, but Obi-Wan doesn’t care about that part. He’s too busy trying to get the several thousand Clones who’ve arrived on Naboo fed and looked after.

 

 


End file.
